Author's Note: This was written really late at night and in all honesty I'm way too lazy to reread it. Sorry if it's not well written, but I hope you enjoy. Just a little fluff that came to me!

James T Kirk, though decidedly brave and masculine, relied on a great many people. There were moods he found himself in that over time he was able to correspond with the right people on the Enterprise to snap him out of it, to help him through.

He knew that when he was feeling self-doubt, when it seemed as though he could never be the kind of captain he expected of himself, he had to turn to Bones. The doctor was grumpy and sarcastic, but when Jim came to him feeling this particular way, only Bones knew how to fix it. He would tell the captain that no one could do it better, that his crew respected him beyond his knowledge, and Jim would believe him because Bones doesn't lie to make people feel better. That's not his style.

And when he was frustrated or irritable, he turned to Sulu. It wasn't just the physical catharsis that Sulu offered, when the two would work out together or spar in the training room, but Sulu himself was some kind of calming agent. It was the serene way he talked; he was always very grounded and never disagreeable, and there were days when the pilot was the only person Kirk could get along with. It cleared his head, just being with Sulu, and brought him back to himself.

And there were times when Kirk just needed the truth. When the only thing he needed was a straight answer, a good answer, just to hear something said. And that was when he needed Spock. The two had begun roughly, but their relationship had blossomed aboard the Enterprise, and their connection was immensely strong. Spock was the Super Ego Kirk had never seemed to have, that voice that knows the facts and allows you to sort through them and make sense of them. Spock allowed Kirk to rid his mind of the clutter.

And if he was feeling bleak, hopeless or just bluesy, he knew that Scotty was there for him. Good for a drink and a laugh and a break from some of the formalities that made Kirk feel so isolated sometimes. Scotty helped Kirk remember what it was like to be a person, instead of a captain. He offered a reality check that Kirk needed frequently.

But none of these people were helping today. Kirk sat on his bed at what the computer said was 2am, thoroughly awake. His eyes itched with tiredness but his mind was racing and would not be put down. There was some kind of emptiness inside of him that he could not figure out. It wasn't a sadness that could be laughed off, or an insecurity that could be eradicated with a few kind words. It was something he couldn't pin down, but that gnawed at him with a ferocity that exhausted him but would not let him sleep. He gave one exasperated groan and stood, hearing his joints crack as he did so. Walking out of his room, he found himself headed towards the observation deck.

It was a huge room meant for recreation, with very high walls that curved over into a dome and were made up of giant windows. Outside were countless stars burning intensely, only to be seen as specks of light in the inky blackness. They seemed to go on forever. And before this vastness was a figure, sitting, leaning against the glass, looking infinitely small.

Kirk felt awkward intruding upon the person's meditation, but as he made a move to go, the figure turned to look at him.

"Keptain?"

It was Chekov, no wonder he had seemed so small.

"What are you doing up sir?" Chekov inquired, his voice much more tame than Kirk could remember it ever being.

"I, um I couldn't sleep," he stammered, caught a little off guard.

Chekov shook his head sadly.

"Da, neither could I sir." He turned his head to stare back out the window. Still unsure, Kirk walked over to sit next to the young ensign. They did not talk for a long time.

"You know, from here you can see our sun," Chekov said quietly, breaking the silence at last.

"Really?" Kirk asked incredulously. "How could you tell which one it is?"

Chekov seemed sheepish.

"I calculated it an hour ago. Given that we are traveling at 3 parsecs a minute, the sun would be right…" he pointed towards a part of space that looked just like the rest. "There sir, that one."

Kirk could not tell which one Chekov was talking about, but he nodded knowingly.

"It is not very bright, of course," the ensign muttered sleepily. "But that is why it is so beautiful. It is just bright enough, no more so, to ensure our survival. Do you know how many stars in the universe leave every planet around them scorched? Ours is perfect." He seemed to be falling asleep just there, with the side of his face pressed against the glass, his eyes still fixed on the faint pixel he was sure was his sun.

And Kirk understood.

"You miss home, don't you," he stated, without asking.

Chekov looked up at his captain, only his eyes moving. He seemed embarrassed.

"I…I do sir." He said.

Before Kirk could respond, Chekov blurted in that voice full of nervous energy that Kirk was accustomed to from the young Russian, "But I do love it here sir! This is all I have ever wanted!"

Kirk smiled fondly. He turned a little to sit resting his back against the glass, and Chekov followed suit, looking nervously at his hands in his lap.

"I get pretty homesick too," he said. "How could you not? I don't think I'll ever see a planet more beautiful than Earth."

Chekov nodded solemnly.

"Where I grew up," Kirk continued, "There were these great huge fields. I used to run through them with my dog. We'd go for miles, and we'd get so exhausted and dirty, but we would always end up at this little river where we could cool off." He could feel Chekov's skinny body tensing, and he knew the kid was trying not to cry.

"In my home," Chekov said quietly, "it would snow every winter. Every year when the first snow fell, my sister would take me to a park and we would play in it." He leaned his head back a little, so that it made a soft clunk as it hit the glass. "I wish I could taste snow right now, sir"

Kirk felt something inside him, it was a gnawing again but it was different. It filled him, rather than emptied.

"When I was your age, I used to sleep outside some summer nights," he said, now looking over at Chekov whose eyes were closed. "I would stare up at the stars, and it looked like there were billions of them. Of course, who knew I'd end up here," he gave a little laugh. "Did you ever do that?"

Chekov seemed to smile just a little.

"We could never sleep outside sir, even Russian children would freeze to death outside in St. Petersburg." He frowned slightly. "But…I grew up in the city, and so I never really saw the stars anyway. Sometimes though, papa would take us out to the country." Chekov stared upwards at the dome above him, his voice distant. "There, we would see every star. I used to think it was every single one."

Kirk followed the ensign's gaze upwards. "They are beautiful."

Chekov only nodded.

"And to think we made it here, to this spot that we used to stare up at and only dream of ever reaching." He was looking at Chekov, who finally made eye contact.

"I know it seems like Earth is so far away, but," Kirk gestured behind him, "You found it out there, you saw it. And someone there is seeing us, even if they don't know it." Kirk smiled his big, silly grin. "We're really not that far from it, after all."

And Chekov's face broke into a smile, a painfully optimistic smile.

"You are right sir," he said, admiration and accent thick in his voice. "It is silly to be homesick. Home is right there," he twisted himself around and pointed again at the spot on the window that Kirk couldn't tell from any other.

"Thank you sir," Chekov beamed at his beloved Captain.

All Chekov wanted to do was give his captain a huge, undignified hug, but he was terrified. Kirk knew this. So he gave Chekov a huge, undignified hug himself.

When they parted, the ensign looked as though all thoughts of homesickness were gone, beaming as he was.

"Get some sleep now, kid," Kirk said lovingly. Chekov nodded with a small, "Aye sir" and walked sleepily towards his quarters.

Kirk sunk down again and stared out at the stars.

Sometimes the only person that can help you is the one that lets you help them.